#don't ask me what those implications are idk

[bibiana112]

I remember on the radio Waters was asked about the male gaze-y stuff in the Handmaiden and she just completely avoided the question

Which I think is pretty telling about what that movie is like (also lowkey side eyeing her)

From what I understand the opinion she holds of it is neutral towards positive, she felt uncomfortable too but shrugged it off because younger queer people are allowed to enjoy that if they want, seemed to hold her tongue on specifics because she respects the guy regardless and vibed with it, but honestly I personally don't care regardless I just want to read about hairy women instead of watching something a guy made while thinking of queer liberation as just a risque trope with a fun crime flick twist to it but hey I'm just cynical

[ssaaaronmontgomery]

Mon I think Aaron got a pair of old man (dilf) style reading glasses and at first he’s embarrassed to wear them with the team bc he knows Morgan or Dave will tell him he’s getting old BUT when he wears them at work he notices you get unable to focus in the team meeting and you’re all dazed basically until he takes them off and tucks them away but bonus point that this interaction makes him feel very desired and wanted 😵‍💫 and maybe he’ll show them off to you in private later 🤫

The Glasses

Warnings: Pining?? Sort of?? Maybe idk. Nothing smutty but there are some implications. This is like borderline nsfw? Maybe??

Word count: 1.1k

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!bau!reader

A/n: Omg yes. We love dilf glasses on Hotch. He already looks so pretty and desirable but something about glasses on him is different and I need it. I wouldn't say this fic is necessarily nsfw. But I might be willing to write a part two where it becomes smutty. I'll leave this as sfw unless I come to the conclusion that it should be marked otherwise.

Tags: @criminalskies

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle

You're completely distracted and it's all his fault. Him and his downright slutty glasses. The first time you saw him wearing them it was a very brief sighting as he had taken them off after just a few seconds of you being in the room. And ever since then you craved to see him wearing those glasses again. They often made an appearance in some of the very inappropriate fantasies you have about your boss. They'd even worked their way into your dreams at night.

The case the team is currently working has been dragging on for a couple of days now and you've gotten basically nowhere with it. The fact that you're sitting across from Hotch as he reads a file with his glasses on is not helping you concentrate on the case in the slightest. And it's stirring something up deep inside you the more you stare at him. Aaron wearing those glasses and looking all serious as he reads is making you very horny if you're being totally honest.

"Y/l/n? Y/l/n. Y/n." You hear Hotch speak your name in a stern tone and you feel his hand grasp yours and he squeezes it. You snap out of your trance. "Hmm? Yeah, what is it, Hotch?" He furrows his brows as he looks at you and pulls his hand away now that he has your attention. "Are you okay? You've been distracted. Every time we sit here looking through files, you seem to be distracted. Is something going on? Are you alright?" Concern is clear in his voice.

What you want to say is "No, I'm not alright. I'm horny and it's your fault because you're wearing dilf glasses that make me want you more than ever. You're very distracting and if you don't put them away right now I'll launch myself over this table and kiss you before dragging you to my hotel room." But you figure that's not really the best thing to say to your boss right now. So you settle for giving him a smile and a nod before looking back down at the file in front of you as you try to force yourself not to look at the beautiful man sitting across from you.

You stare down at the papers but even though you're not looking at him anymore, you still aren't actually focusing on the words on the page because you're so concentrated on not looking back up at Hotch to steal another glance at those glasses. Though eventually you can't help it and do it anyway. You can't really stop yourself as you look back to him.

The glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he scowles down at his papers. You sigh out loudly by accident. No one else is really paying attention to you aside from Emily and Derek sending each other smirks when they notice just why you're so out of it. But the loud sigh makes Aaron look at you again. His glasses are down far enough that he's looking over the top of them to make eye contact with you.

"Y/n, are you sure you're fine?" He asks, sounding even more concerned now.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired is all."

He stays silent as he observes you for a moment before nodding and going back to his reading.

This continues as the team starts throwing ideas around. Aaron keeps an eye on you throughout it and he knows your excuse of being tired, while partially true, is definitely not the main reason for your behaviour and he just can't pinpoint exactly what it is. But he realises it must have something to do with him as you can't keep your eyes off of him, and only him. You're not having this problem with any of the other team members. Not Derek, not JJ, not anyone but him.

He goes back to your previous statement about being tired once everyone goes back to sifting through the numerous number of old reports and files from the precinct as you all try to come up with a group of suspects.

Hotch speaks up when he feels your eyes on him again. "Would you like me to get you a coffee? I know what they have here isn't very good, but it might wake you up a bit." He glances up at you as he waits for your response. "Yeah, sure. That's probably just what I need."

He nods and stands, in the process he removes his glasses and sets them down on the table. He notices how your eyes follow the glasses and that's when pieces start coming together in his mind. He figures he'll test it out when he comes back.

He leaves and comes back a few minutes later with your cup of coffee and sets it down in front of you. You thank him and he nods then sitting back down. This time, leaving his glasses off. In fact, he actually puts them away so they're out of sight entirely.

This seems to change things. You're more focused on the work. You still give him the occasional glance but you're not full on staring at him with drool practically spilling out of your mouth like you had been earlier.

He leaves the glasses put away and he tries his best to read without them like he used to. He'd known he had needed glasses long ago but he refused to wear them because he didn't want his age to show. He knew he would get some teasing remarks about it from Dave and Morgan. But eventually, it got to the point where he could hardly do the reading part of his job. So he reluctantly had his eyes checked and soon he was wearing glasses that made it far easier to read.

He didn't like the glasses in the slightest. They made him feel old and he didn't like that. But the way you looked at him when he was wearing them, that did something to him. It made him want to wear them.

Unable to work without them, he gets them back out and puts them on. It's hard not to notice the way you immediately look back up from your work. He pretends not to see it.

Over the next half hour you can't help but watch him like he's the most interesting thing you've ever seen. You're fixated on him. And now he is sure it's the glasses that are doing it. He has to bite back a smile. Knowing you apparently find him so attractive with them on makes him feel good inside. He doesn't understand why you would like it, but it's extremely clear that it's doing something for you. He's tempted to show up at your hotel room later to explore this further and see just how much you like them.

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field XVI

summary: you can finally go home.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.4k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do.). implications and mentions of abuse and some non-graphic violence, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there. oh, and manipulation.

a/n: i can't believe this is it :') the final part (excluding the epilogue which is coming v soon). thank you all so so so much for all the love on this fic! it means so much to me that you guys enjoyed it! but don't get too sad (like me) bc i am not ready to let them go so i'll probably do like blurbs and stuff ab this series so stick around for those!

series masterlist // playlist

"Y/N/N. Do you have your clothes from home?" Coryo asks, pulling the boat back up onto the shore. The guns were gone. He's free to go home if he wants.

"Yes." You nod. "I couldn't get rid of them if I wanted." You chuckle, looking up into the woods behind the cabin, hoping Sejanus is long gone by now.

"Okay. You're gonna stay here, just for a few days, and then I'll come get you before the train leaves. I'll take you to Two with me, just wear those. You'll fit in better."

"Okay..." You nod, nervous about being out here all alone for so long.

"I'll come bring you food as much as I can." He knew it would be a long hike each way to come see you, but he would have to carve out the time. He looks up at you quickly from digging through his own bag when he hears you sniffle. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I- uhm..." You clear your throat, fanning your eyes to keep any tears from falling. "I'm just scared." You try and laugh it off, shaking your head slightly.

"Don't be scared." Coryo shakes his head, dropping the bag to grab your shoulders. "Hey, you're gonna be okay, Darling, but we don't have another choice. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I know, I know that..." You sniff, looking up at him. "Is she dead?"

"Yes." He answers quickly. "I buried her. She can't hurt you." He promises. Was that true? No, definitely not. There was no trace of her after the shot besides her earring on the ground,  but he had hit her. He was sure of it. There was no reason to tell you that, though, just to scare you more. You couldn't go back to town, there was nowhere for you to hide while peacekeepers searched every inch of the populated part of the District for days while he waited for his train.

"Okay." You whisper, taking a deep, shakey breath as you look around at the suddenly scary forested area around you. The rain had started to clear up, which helped with the sun peeking through the clouds to brighten up the lake. If Lucy Gray hadn't ruined everything, you would probably be getting ready to keep moving.

"Just, try to relax out here. Okay? Go for a swim, just enjoy the fresh air." He smiles softly, brushing some hair back out of your face as he tries to make you feel better.

"I've had enough of the woods for the rest of my life." You scoff, shaking your head under his hold.

"I know, Y/N/N, I'm sorry. It's only a few days. Like I said, I'll come back for you whenever I'm free." Even if he could only stay for five minutes before he had to turn around and make the trip back to town, he would do it. "Then we'll figure everything out. I'll handle it."

"I... I just want to go home, but I can't." You cry, letting him wipe your tears as your chest flushes with the emotion.

Coryo winces at your tears. He hates seeing you cry, and he has seen it far more times than he would have liked to in the last few months. "I'm going to figure it out. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you ever again. I promise." He says softly, trying to get you to look at him.

You lean into his palm, closing your eyes as you try desperately to pull it together. You were exhausted, but this was the last thing Coryo needed right now. "I'm sorry. I'm just having a moment."

"I know. You're okay." He chuckles, planting a kiss on your forehead and pulling you into a hug, rocking your body gently back and forth. "You know, I think the last time you said that to me was the day I realized I was in love with you." He hums, squeezing your shoulders gently.

You laugh, which makes him smile. It's what he wanted. "I feel like that's a bit dramatic."

"No, it's true." He grins, craning his neck to look down at you. "You defended me, and you listened to me, and you looked just so pretty doing it..."

You bury your face in his shirt to hide your blush.

"You're always on my team, and I appreciate that. I really do." He explains, satisfied that he's made you feel at least a little better. "I hope you know I'm always on your side, too."

You nod slightly, smiling through your tears as you look up at him. "I know."

"Good." Coryo whispers, kissing your nose. "I love you."

"Really?" You whisper, eyes lighting up as you wring your hands together against his chest in front of you. "You're not just saying that because I'm crying on you?" You laugh slightly.

"No, I do." He nods in confirmation, grinning down at you in admiration. "There's no one else in this world I can trust as much as I can trust you."

"Then why'd you give her your scarf?" You ask, tilting your head. "It looked... valuable."

"It was. It belonged to my mother..." He says solemnly. He suddenly shakes his head, mocking your expression as he changes the tone. "You really were dead to the world, huh? I was holding it, and she just asked if she could see it. Then she didn't give it back." Coryo explains, raising an eyebrow at you. "Why, are you jealous of the dead girl?"

You roll your eyes with a smile on your face, attempting to shove him away.

"Hey, I'm kidding." He laughs, pulling you close again by your wrists. "Don't you trust me?"

"Okay, yes, I trust you." You giggle as he drops your wrists, sliding his hands over your waist.

"And you love me?" Coryo asks, urging you on.

"And I love you." You grin, nodding slightly.

"That's my girl..." He hums, running a hand lower down your side, thumb running over your midsection as he leans in to kiss you. He had you right where he wanted you, he'd wanted to say that for ages. Only since he even clued into the fact that the buzz he gets under his skin when he catches you smiling, anyway. Realistically, you were something he had always wanted. Picturing his future over the last few years when he was dragging himself out of bed every morning desperate to arrive to class on time even on an empty stomach, his daydreams of his success always included your own, as well.

Now, it was only the two of you. He was so right about you, you were perfect in every way. Smart, obedient to him and only to him, but you fought for what you wanted. You knew struggle, pressure, and soul crushing expectations in the same way he did. Through all of it, you were there for him. You were beautiful- and he was the only one smart enough to see past your occasional outbursts. No one knew how to navigate you like he did, and he was lucky that few people ever bothered to try.

The most beautiful girl in all of the Capitol, and you were his. He meant it when he said that he would never let anyone hurt you. He couldn't let anyone take you from him.

"Do you know where we're going? Where Tigris and your Grandma'am are living?" You whisper, curled up next to Coryo on the train as it pulls into the Capitol station. You're holding the orange silk scarf in your hands, using it as a small blanket in the cold train car. You had spent most of your time out by the lake trying to clean it- but dirt was a stubborn stain. You'd have to be more thorough once you had access to cleaning supplies again. You couldn't let such a lovely piece of clothing go to waste, especially when it was so valuable to him.

"I don't..." Coryo mumbles in response, staring out the window as you lean your head against his shoulder, knees tucked up to your chest. "They shouldn't be hard to find, though."

The wheels screech to a slow stop in the familiar city, and you can't help but smile at the endless sea of grey architecture. It wasn't anything like the forest in Twelve, and you loved it. The door slides open and some peacekeepers enter, drawing both of your attention as you sit up away from him.

"Dr. Gaul is expecting you both in her lab immediately." One of them informs you, and you nod a little bit, looking nervously over at your boyfriend.

You hung off his arm for the entire car ride and all the way to the lab as you're escorted by the men in the matching uniform to his own. Your clothes were dirty, despite how many times you cleaned them back in District Twelve. You had cleaned them obsessively throughout the last couple of months, but the water was never quite clear enough to be helpful. It was vile. Surely you smell unpleasant due to this, and you were hoping you would have a shower before confronting anyone from your previous life, but clearly, you weren't so lucky.

"Do I stink?" You whisper, trying to avoid the echo of the large room as your heels click across the linoleum flooring.

"Not any more than I do." Coryo answers, a small smile pulling on his lips as he glances down at you.

You giggle, gently slapping his chest as he removes his hat.

"Congratulations, Mister Snow, Miss Y/L/N. You've passed all my tests." You look up at Dr. Gaul for the first time as she speaks to you, tossing something into a pool on her floor. "I've asked President Ravenstill to grant you both a full pardon, effective immediately."

You don't say anything as you both stop in front of the tank in the ground, staring into it as Coryo revels in the shock. "I also told him that you are too promising to be wasted in the Districts. So you will be studying under me at the Capitol University."

While she speaks, you pull Tigris's coat tighter around yourself at the slimy, vicious look of whatever creatures are splashing around inside that tank that she is continuously feeding.

"We can't afford university." Coryo answers on your behalf, forcing you to look up at the woman across from you. While you were incredibly grateful, you were scared. Things were complicated back at your parents' home, and even with a legal form of forgiveness, it's not likely your father will see it the same way. You couldn't go back, and he wasn't likely to give you a dime or let you go free. Within the week, you'd probably die from an "unknown illness" contracted in the Districts if he found out you were home.

"A certain Mister Strabo Plinth has offered to pay for everything you need while you're there. All for being such good friends to his Sejanus." Dr. Gaul explains and your heart drops in your chest. You can't help but wonder if he's even still alive out there, in the North. "He doesn't know quite how good a friend you were, of course. I never mentioned your little recording. Quite impressive, Mister Snow, how you sent your only friend to the grave just to get my attention."

"That's not what I did." Coryo shakes his head at the allegation.

He squeezes your arm in warning, knowing this topic was a fine line to walk. "Are you sure? Because I think that won you the Plinth Prize, after all."

"Sejanus Plinth is not dead." You blurt out without thinking. She tilts her head at you, looking at you intensely, a knowing smile growing on her lips.

"Oh?" She asks, and internally you struggle for a saving grace while Coryo furrows his brow at you. You hadn't seen Sejanus since you sent him away, but you did try looking for him in your days out there alone. You had to believe he was alive, after you gave him his way out.

"Well, I heard that he had escaped in Twelve. As far as I know, they never found a body. He planned on running off anyway. That's likely what he did." You explain, clearing your throat.

"I agree. That is likely, but the odds he would survive out there..." She shakes her head slightly, dropping another treat into the tank as the creatures snap at it. "Anyway, the president has agreed to another year of the games! People watched, and I have you kids to thank for that."

You and Coryo wear matching grins now, posture perfect to match your collective pride.

"But before I take you under my wing, after everything you've seen out there in the real world, let me ask you one final time." Dr. Gaul says, looking pointedly between the two of you. "What are the Hunger Games for?"

You look up at your boyfriend, nodding for him to answer. "I used to think that the Hunger Games were a punishment for the districts. Then, I thought they served as a warning to us here in the capitol, about the threat the districts posed. Now I know the whole world is an arena. And we need the Hunger Games every year to remind us all who we truly are."

"And who are you, do you determine?" Coryo looks down at you as she speaks.

"We are the Victors." You finish with a proud smile, looking at the woman across from you who seems more than pleased with your answer.

"Coriolanus, what are you doing back so soon?" Your mom greets him as she opens the door of your childhood home, smiling sadly, confused as to the condition of his return.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am." He smiles politely, grey uniform cap now clutched to his chest. "I proved to be exceptional in my training. Dr. Gaul saw it was better Y/N and I work under her at the University."

"Y/N?" Your mom gasps, reaching up to cover her mouth with her hand. "She's alive?"

"I assure you, she is safe." Coriolanus nods. "Now, may I speak with your husband? I won't take up much of his time." He brushes past her, entering the home without waiting for permission.

"Well, dear, where is she?" Your mom asks, letting him pass and closing the door quickly. "Why hasn't she come home?"

"I think you know why she hasn't come here." He hums, looking around. "Where is he?"

"His study." Your mom answers quietly, gesturing up the stairs. "I'll walk you."

"No need. I know where I'm going." He gives her a small smile in return, following the familiar path toward your room.

He stops in front of your father's study, knocking before taking a step back. The force of habit leads him to stand at attention while he waits for permission to enter.

"I'm busy, don't bother me." Your father's voice echoes through the ornate lining on the door. Then he realizes, he doesn't need permission. Not anymore.

Coriolanus huffs, opening the door and stepping in.

"I said-" Your father growls, slamming his pen down on the desk before he looks up and takes in the grey of Coriolanus's decorated peacekeeper uniform. "Coriolanus."

"Sir." He nods in response, closing the door quietly behind himself. "May I sit?" He asks coldly, gesturing to the chair across from him.

"Please." Your father nods, brow furrowed as to what the blonde boy could possibly want, or what he is doing back so soon.

"Y/N isn't here, son." Your father sighs. "She-"

"I know that." Coriolanus interrupts, placing his hat on the desk between them.

"You know where she is." Your father's tone is unsurprised, but questioning.

"I do." He confirms, back straight in the chair. He had always been afraid of your father, but this was built on an admiration. He reminded him of what little he remembered about his own father. This morphed into anger slowly but surely over the last few years, picking up several hints either in your appearance, demeanor, or choice of words which painted an incredibly unflattering picture of who the man sitting in front of him truly was.

Your dad hums in response, eyes locked on the boy. "How was your summer?"

The question catches Coryo off guard, but he puts all his focus into maintaining his poise. He has the upper hand, here, and he has to keep reminding himself of that. "It was good. Certainly an eye-opening experience, the people out there are very... different."

"Then what brought you back so soon?" His neglect to even ask where you were, if you were okay, if you were even alive makes Coryo's blood boil in his veins.

"Dr. Gaul." Coriolanus states, swallowing before he continues. "She granted your daughter and I a full pardon in exchange for taking an internship under her at the university. After all, that is her dream, is it not?"

Your father's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of your name. "It was." He agrees.

"Is." Coriolanus corrects him, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "Strabo Plinth has offered to pay our way."

"Of course he has." Your dad chuckles, but not an ounce of humour reaches his eyes. "Self righteous bastard..."

"Seeing as you don't care about her as much as you care about your own reputation, he saw it would be a way to repay her for her loyal friendship to his son. She saved his life twice, after all." Coryo ignores your father's comment, watching as the gears turn in his head, trying to remember the second time.

"I know you think you understand my daughter, Coriolanus, but there are some parts of her you will never know. Not truly." Your father responds coolly. "So, I'm not sure what she has told you, but-"

"But nothing." Coryo cuts him off, leaning back in his seat. "Here is what is going to happen. You will have nothing to do with her, her life, her mistakes, or her decisions any longer. Since, in your own words, you see her as such a burden, I am willing to free you of that."

Your dad grits his teeth together, and it's his turn to lean forward. "Coriolanus Snow, you will not speak to me that way in my own home. Y/N is my daughter, and I shall be involved as I please and I shall do with her what I deem appropriate to consequent her actions."

"No." Coryo replies sternly, standing up abruptly, unabashed by the sound of the chair scraping across the wooden floor as he slams his fist on the desk. "She is eighteen. I  take responsibility for her now, and unless you want to lose everything you and Highbottom have built, you will cut me in on every dime you make. Do you understand?"

Your dad laughs again. "And who will believe you, Coryo? You're just kids. You don't know what you're talking about. Whatever she told you is untrue. Simple as that."

"Would you like a list?" Coryo threatens. "Is that a risk you're willing to take, Y/D/N?"

He sighs, standing up to look eye to eye with him, clearly seething with the disrespectful use of his first name. "She's more trouble for you than it's worth, Son."

"That is my decision to make." Coryo says through gritted teeth.

"Suit yourself." Your dad raises his hands in defeat, careful to not show any fear. Coriolanus could see through it, though. He's won, and he knows it; it was a great deal, if your father was smart enough to see it that way. "How much do you want? Money is nothing to me."

"More than Highbottom gets." Coriolanus requests plainly, grabbing his hat and placing it back over his head. "And you'll pay for our wedding." He adds casually, pushing the discarded chair back into its place. "You'll pay for as many dresses and parties as she wants, every drink, every slice of cake, and every last flower she wishes for exactly how she wishes for it. No compromises, and no surprise appearances from you. Are. We. Clear?" He speaks clearly, intentionally enunciating every word with a trace of venom.

"Crystal." Your father scoffs, taking a drink from the whiskey glass on his desk.

Coriolanus nods, giving him a small smile. "Good. I'll be expecting the money orders every other week." He grins smugly, giving your father a quick bow before heading for the door, stopping as his hand brushes over the handle. "All due respect, Sir, which I deem to be very little, but what you have done to your daughter over all these years is what has made her into the woman you hate. Don't think I was the only one who noticed, and you would deserve every bit of harm we could do to your name. If you ever so much as speak to her again, I will kill you myself."

Coryo glances back at your father's expression only briefly before leaving. He couldn't resist the satisfying look of loathing and anger on the man's face.

The small smile sticks as he walks down the stairs, hearing the crystal glass shatter as it's thrown against the door behind him.

Finally, you were totally even.

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey ,  @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

taglist is closed for coryo unfortunately, but my requests for him are open!! so send me all your suggestions!! requests here!!

[matan4il]

IDK how to write today's update post. There were so many things I meant to include info about, but now everything pales in the face of the terrible news we got this morning.

At least 24 Israeli soldiers were killed in the last 24 hours in Gaza.

Here are the faces of some of them:

The terrorists responsible for most of these deaths, attacked in a spot just 600 meters (0.37 miles, with the border breached on Oct 7 in the middle) from a southern Israeli community, Kissufim.

[this paragraph is for the people spewing hate, on and off anon : if you read the news and smiled to yourself, or felt any kind of joy, I want you to know that's vile. It's devoid of any morality or humanity. You can tell yourself and others that you're for human rights all you want, but if you feel joy at the death of human beings, human beings who had the right to live (and would have lived, had it not been for the terrible massacre Hamas carried out on Oct 7, which the terrorists promised to recreate repeatedly, targeting Israelis and Jews alike), then you're not for human rights. It's just an excuse you use to be able to publicly celebrate the death of Jews, and of non-Jewish citizens of the Jewish state who defend their fellow Jews. It's just the same, age old antisemitism under a new guise]

IDK how to explain what that number does to me, as an Israeli, as a Jew, as the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors.

I still remember the morning of Oct 7, as the news started pouring in. First, just talking about the rockets, they had no confirmation of casualties yet. Then, we got the news of one elderly woman, killed by a rocket as she left her home to open the communal bomb shelter for others to use. Then suddenly it was 5 dead, then 10, then 22, along with the news that Palestinian terrorists from Gaza have invaded Israel's south.

And I knew then that the number is going to be higher. The way it normally goes with news of terrorist attack, is you first get a big number, those killed immediately or shortly after the attack, and then there are a few more wounded who don't make it. Basically, there's a big number, and then a small adjustment. Something like... first hearing about the 10 immedaite casualties of an attack, then the number is adjusted to 12 or 13 in the following hours, or days. But here, the jump in the number of dead from 10 to 22 told me we're not in the "small adjustment phase" yet. We're still in the "counting the initial big number phase."

That was so hard, because 22 was already hard to deal with. Up until Oct 7, if I remember correctly, we had lost 38 people in 2023 to Palestinian terrorism. That was already considered the bloodiest year in terms of terrorism victims since the second intifada. People were already grieving, asking questions about what was going on, talking about how the renewal of certain (American) funding to Palestinians (such as the Palestinian Authority's Pay for Slay program) was causing this surge in murderous activity, and what can be done to change the situation. To lose 22 people in one day meant that the number of 2023 terrorism victims was almost doubled already... and we were not yet done counting our dead. The grief and loss of almost 9 months and change almost doubled in a day... and it was likely about to grow.

The number of dead kept rising. We jumped from 22 to 50. From 50 to 100. Then 200. Still no sign of getting to the "small adjustment phase" and it was hard to breathe with every new update. We got to 300, and it was almost unbearable. Then 450. A jump of 150 dead. There was no way to process it, no way to really comprehend it, and the worst was always that the jumps in numbers between updates meant we're still in the "counting the initial big number phase." Somewhere after 600 and before the next update, I realized from an interview (nothing official, just the implication of what one person, who was in the know, said) that it was not going to be less than 1,000 people killed. And I no longer felt like I could contain any of it. The horror, the grief, the shock, the struggle to comprehend that this is real, and not the worst nightmare I've ever had.

At least 1,200 people were murdered during Hamas' massacre. It's been over 3 months, and when I write that I didn't know how to contain everything I was feeling back then, I still don't. So you might think, what's 24 people in comparison to 1,200 dead? But that's not how it works. The death of one person does not pale in comparison with the death of the many.

When I work on Holocaust research, and I work on the testimony of one Jewish girl, who had to watch her father being beaten in front of her eyes by Nazi-collaborating Italian fascist soldiers in a concentration camp in Libya, in northern Africa, when I try to process what the murder of just one parent, just one person means to her, I know it's the destruction of her whole world. It doesn't lessen the pain, that the number of Jewish Holocaust victims outside of Europe is "just" in the thousands, while in Europe it's in the millions. One death can in itself be impossible to bear.

And here's the thing. Those deaths and their impact accumulate. We didn't just learn today that we lost 24 soldiers. We lost 24 worlds (because as the Jewish saying goes, "He who kills one person, it's as if he killed the entire world, and he who saves one person, it's as if he saved the whole world," Mishna Sanhedrin 4.5) and we lost them as a part of now over 220 soldiers we lost in this war (see below a map of Israel with a red dot for every place where at least one soldier was killed), which was forced upon us with the murder and destruction of over 1,200 worlds, which comes after 75 years of a conflict we didn't want, in which we lost 28,000 worlds, and that followed a genocide in which we lost at least 6,000,000 worlds, and that in itself is the peak of almost two thousand years of persecution, during which the full and total number of Jews lost, of worlds destroyed just because of antisemitism, will never be known. All I know is that the Jews we know today, we're not the Jewish people. We are what's left of the Jewish people. And we will live. Am Yisrael Chai. Always. In the face of countless attempts at our destruction, we're still here. But we remember them all. Every single soul lost. Every world destroyed. Every child that had been murdered, every child that will never get to be born. We have lost 24 worlds today, and the fact that we have lost so many before, only makes the loss worse.

And we would not have lost a single person in the fighting in Gaza if we had actually been guilty of the crimes they accuse us of. We could have wiped out all of Gaza from the air, without risking the life of a single soldier on the ground. Every one of the Israeli soldiers killed, died to protect Israelis, as well as to save Palestinian civilians.

The way I feel right now, I think about the words of one member of Kissufim who I heard today: "We are broken, but strong."

May the memory of those lost be a blessing, every single one of them, every Jewish person, and non-Jew killed for standing with Jews, in every generation.

You're all still with me, I carry all of you in my heart, always.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[doberbutts]

You mentioned in response to another ask that you don't use "transandrophobia" because the trans theory you were taught by trans women told you that "transmisogyny" covered those things and that is a total revelation to me. I've been thinking for a long time that it seemed to me that the idea of transmisogyny *does* cover transandrophobia, it just impacts trans femmes and trans mascs differently a lot of the time. But I had no idea that there has been theory/discussion that says this. I'm more used to the idea of "TMA" with the implication that only trans women are affected by transmisogyny. Is that more of a new thing and transmisogyny used to be considered as a more broad term? And would you trace that change to the same issue you're talking about with a lot of current feminism forgetting how feminism is also a "men's issue"?

Idk if I would call it "new" per say. The word trans-misogyny was coined in 2007 and did not include trans men, but the book in which it was coined did mention that language was likely needed to describe the trans man experience as well. There have been a number of different attempts, but none have really stuck.

I went to college starting in 2010, so roughly 3 years after Serrano coined the word. While in college, my school's GSA wanted LGBT elders to come and talk to all the scared freshly-minted adults who were trying to figure out this being gay thing. The woman who ran my GSA found a Trans woman who was willing to be my mentor and sponsor, she wrote my letters for me back when that was still necessary for medical transition, and we met frequently for her to teach me more or less how to be trans safely. Some things she did not know- how to bind safely, how to attach a semi-permenant packer, etc. But others she knew very well, because she herself dealt with both being seen as a man by society as well as the effects of testosterone on her body for decades before she transitioned.

Anyway. This woman was great, and is a significant portion of the reason I'm still alive to this day. And she is who taught me the word transmisogyny, and that it should really cover all trans people because all trans people experience an intersection of transphobia and misogyny. Whether that was popular theory at the time or not, that is what us young kids learned directly from the mouths of trans women at my college, which to me means that others were also learning this particular version of transfeminist theory.

Unfortunately by the time I dropped out of college in 2013/2014, online trans spaces were having stupid arguments such as "transtrenders are bad" and "neopronouns are bad" and "nonbinary people are cis people who want to feel special" and "trans men should be hunted for sport" and "trans women are incel nazis" and. Well. I went "wow this place is a cesspit and I feel like no one here has actually talked to another transgender person face to face" and then did not engage with the online community. So I don't really know how common or popular the understanding I was taught was at the time, though it certainly seems quite rare now.

(As a caveat I don't really think trans people of any gender have anything that isn't similar with each other when it comes to oppression, outside of certain bodily things that can't be helped because that's literally the thing we're transgender about, and I think we all experience very similar oppression but sometimes with a different hat)

As for what caused this particular defining to fall into obscurity? I really can't say. I don't know how popular the transfeminist theory the trans women who spoke at my GSA meetings taught us actually was in the broader world. Every once in a while I meet someone who lived through that same time who remembers that theory, which tells me it had gained at least some traction if it was being discussed in multiple parts of the country, but... that's really it. And it's pretty unpopular theory nowadays, I get people calling me a scumbag and claiming that I say transmisogyny doesn't exist just for mentioning that the theory I was taught includes trans men in the discussion.

But I don't think it's specifically the whole TMA/TME thing. I think it's a lack of understanding of what oppression and what intersectionality are, how they operate, how they work, how we define things through them. There are many people who believe that men do not experience misogyny. But, they do, that's why it's an insult to a boy to call him a girl during a moment of femininity or vulnerability, as a means of calling him weak because girls are believed to be weak. There are many people who think intersectionality turns oppression into additives, as though stacking marginalizations like dnd buffs. This also falls apart because oppression is not like quick math where you add a +5 to every roll if any part of your identity is privileged and a -7 if any part is oppressed.

I've had people get mad at me for saying that straight people experience homophobia while we also have sitting politicians that make jokes on live TV about how they'd drown their (presumably straight) children if they found out their kids were gay. For saying that GNC cis people experience transphobia when butches are getting kicked out of bathrooms and drag queens are getting jumped in bars. For reminding people that when Sikhs are killed due to being mistaken for Muslim in this country that hates Muslims over a national tragedy our Muslim population did not cause, it's still considered and called Islamophobia, because just because Americans are too stupid to tell a Sikh from a Muslim doesn't mean they weren't spurred into that hate crime by their rampant hatred of Muslims and the sight of a turban and long beard.

[furrysmp]

decided to go sunbringer designs for once. I have so many words oh my god

so. uh,

I am so normal about sunbringer joel smallishbeans so normal I swear. he's planning to throw the o from his name at scott btw.

... he and scar are related but I'm not explaining further until the actual fic about it comes out because there's so much plot significance in the smallishbeans.

... grian. has a book. that he borrowed from the Library. it's very relevant I swear the concept of the library is a plot point.

Also grians eyes are technically green! With a bit of purple and just. a layer of Dark over them to make them less neon green. its not in his genetics to have neon eyes. unlike scar and I swear their eye colors are relevant but like in a weird queerplatonic scarian dl based bit in the grian chapter of the fic

Mumbo is a long cat and being held by me specifically those hands are how I draw my mc skin. I wanted to draw him as this meme since 2021 but he's very hard for me to draw so I took the one time I'll ever draw him and did this.

Jimmy is. a creature. that has bird features but also cod features bc again half of the plot of sunbringer is based on empires 1. Also the bird he's holding is singing. And joel is stealing the song bc he has music type magic.

Scott! Is the one guy I can talk about! Because he already appeared in the fic. He's part ender dragon and like. a child of stars? I have a lot of times I drew him before I think but idk how much of it I uploaded before so yeah. Please ask me about sunbringer scott smajor he's one of the only ones I can talk about and he has so much lore going for him he's so dear to me

impulse is. technically part ender dragon too? the specifics will be explained in his chapter of yhiwu (alongside. a lot of magic lore. like a lot. I have half that speech written already it's basically looking the empires fic in the eyes and going "fight me uwu")

And because impulse is aligned to shadows skizz gets to be some form of light dragon descendant? Like light isn't directly an element in the magic of this universe but it does have an equivalent in the element of Life, which connects to truth and love, whereas shadows and theatrics (and storytelling in general) is always aligned to whatever element is considered dark; in this magic system, being Void.

Tango is looking up at mumbo. thats all. I don't have a lot of notes because my tango is just a little guy.

(Etho is checking smth on his smartwatch and also doing his best to ignore bdubs rn bc bdubs is in his villain arc/hj)

... ngl the only note I have on the bdubs design is that it's accidentally inspired by my human design for the main character in the show I'm writing. Bracelets and sparkly eyes and a t-shirt and. Crimes.

also not much on the cleo design she was just fun to draw but the implications of her existence are spoilers and also not really visually indicative bc idk what a "zombie hybrid" would look like so she just looks. funky. her background is all stitched together btw I finally had a use for the dashed lines brush :D

martyn and ren are. BIG spoilers. But only to like chapter 5 of the current fic. I will say I highly enjoy their existence tho. Also my ren designs always have hawaiian patterned shirts its a personality trait he seems to possess. Also his glasses are like. a hologram? bc his ears are Dog so he cant have normal glasses w like. the things that go behind ur ears.

lizzie is. also very important. she gets the two animals thing like jimmy bc axolotl and cat were her empires animals. also her buns are heart shaped I saw some fanart of that and its really cute so I also have that. and she's also looking at the long mumbo! very confused.

bigb. scares me. like yeah secret life really be mans villain arc. I tried to reflect that by actually straight up mirroring his eyes and having him be. the only guy looking straight at u. he can see u. u can run but u cant hide. also he gets cookies. also also drawing facial hair is hard he's the only time I ever managed to make facial hair look. normal. ever. wont happen again.

gem is being adorable and also definitely a deer hybrid dont mind the magic or stuff its fine (her chapter is. third in the roster. I literally just need to finish the impulse chapter to convince myself that its ok to upload her immediately after ch2).

and pearl! who we know bc she gets first chapter of the fic and thats already out. her eyes are a bit like moons btw. also she's doing magic back at gem which is cute I think. idk.

also half of them have fancy hair shines. like joel having beans that get progressively smaller. or pearl having moons. :D

[johannestevans]

Hi, as an intersex trans masc person I was just wondering if I could ask/clarify a couple things about your posts about being referred to as "afabs"

This is entirely out of a desire to better understand other perspectives so I'm sorry if its a bother, it isn't intended that way

Is it that you generally dislike being referred to as afab because it references a gender that is not your identity, or is it specifically it being used as a noun that causes the issue?

If it is the noun issue, could I ask if you can elaborate on why?

I was under the impression that afab/amab were useful and accepted ways to refer to someone's physical sex at birth, which is what is relevant in discussion about pregnancy etc. Have I misinterpreted something here?

(I'm also autistic so idk if I've missed some tone issue or sarcasm or implication here, I'm just trying to understand better so I don't offend others)

I hope you're doing well and thanks for your time x

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS "PHYSICAL SEX".

And even if there were, right?

Calling me an "AFAB", the implication is meant to be that BECAUSE I was assigned female at birth and had ~female parts~, that means I must have ~female parts~ now, as if these things don't change with time and hormones and surgery, as if because I was erroneously described as female, I am the same physically as I was as an infant, and therefore I share in common everything with anyone else who was also described as female at birth, erroneously or otherwise.

Of course anything to do with being "female" isn't my fucking identity, as a man.

AFAB and AMAB stand for Assigned Female at Birth and Assigned Male at Birth.

Being assigned male or female was an event that happened in the past. I was also a fucking baby at birth. I'm not a baby now, am I? Just because I was an infant then doesn't mean you would prefer to me as an ex-infant or previously an infant. That has 0 bearing on my identity as an adult. It's bizarre to bring it up.

AMAB and AFAB are perfectly useful terms to describe that specific event - the event at birth when you were assigned a sex, incorrect or otherwise.

What relevance or frankly, business, is it of anyone's what sex a ten-year-old was assigned at birth? A twenty-year-old? A forty-year-old? A seventy-year-old?

There are loads of trans people who never went through the wrong puberty, and have had various surgeries. There are plenty of trans people who have been stealth since they were kids, where many of the people around them never had any idea they were trans and/or intersex, and they just went through the puberties they were most comfortable with.

There is no "AFAB" or "AMAB" experience that is universal to everyone based on what sex they were assigned at birth. That is a lie, it is a fiction, and it's not even a convincing once if you actually talk to a variety of other trans and intersex people. Words to the contrary are generally just based in gender essentialist ideology.

What does it have to do with anything, except that some freaks basically still think of assigned sex at birth as what you "really" are, or having a big impact on your current identity in perpetuity?

In a few years, the abilities of surgeons around uterine transplants will have improved. Within twenty years, I expect we'll see more trans women having pregnancies, and in general more people carrying pregnancies after having womb transplants and other organ transplants.

Just say "people who can get pregnant". Just say "people carrying pregnancies" and "pregnant people".

Stop trying to imagine that someone's ~femaleness~ or ~maleness~ is what the crux of the matter is here. Stop trying to project the male and female """"""biological""""" bullshit onto people when it doesn't apply to them.

There is no such thing as universal biological or physical sex under male and female categories, let alone shared experiences based on those categories.

Just eliminate that shit from your mind. It's a fucking cancer.

[bioethicists]

responding to this with my shitty redaction because i'm not comfortable posting obvious bait with people's names in them (particularly dead names) but i just wanted to point out the ways in which this ask is prototypical bait written to purposefully generate drama or controversy (idk if this is in a kiwifarms trolling with right wing motives sense or an 'i love drama' person) by trying to appeal to online leftist culture/the fear of being 'problematic'. i see ppl fall for this constantly + i need people to start learning to recognize the signs instead of either engaging or using this as evidence that leftists are stupid/petty/hypocritical (which many of us are, but in much less amusing ways, unfortunately)

the implication that there is a single founder of the "neurodiversity movement" + that evoking this movement at all (which i don't do + i think it's actually pretty evident that my politics are distinct from the much more bioessentialist politics of those who prefer that term, which is part of what led me to conclude that this is a copypasta) is supporting the founder. tracing a broad social concept to a single individual, then disparaging that individual as morally unsound (by evoking other explosive, petty pieces of discourse, like baeddalism + transandrophobia) in order to provoke doubt, fear or anger. demonstrates a hope that leftists will flinch away from anything associated with anyone 'problematic' without applying any critical thinking.

misrepresenting complex events (or fabricating them entirely- idk if these things happened + i simply couldn't care enough to find out) in a way that hits the pressure points of performative activism (she's being mean to an autistic person! other people of color agree with me! this other person is anti physically disabled people!) while also betraying reactionary opinions through language use/implications (claiming to care about 'transandrophobia' yet deadnaming someone? claiming to care about specific events at specific autism conferences but using terms like "severely autistic"? saying you have spoken to "Blacks, Asians, Hispanics, American Indians" lmao did you type this out based on census checkboxes from the 70s?). the author of this ask is clearly not a member of the activist communities they claim to be from because they accidentally slip into the speech conventions + opinions of a kiwifarms/4chan loser who does a lot of hatereading. this one did a good job of hitting the bingo card of divisive intracommunity issues rn- great research skills, bud! put them to better use <3

reframing reactionary beliefs using leftist concepts. this works because many of us do not have a foundational politic outside of "well, i want to be good, so I'm going to support the things that other people i trust say are good". which doesn't make you bad (there is no good or bad! learn this now + quick, if you really want to play a part in building a better world) but it makes you easy to manipulate + unlikely to be capable of meaningful change. notice that the claims this ask is asserting are, at their core, "people make up microaggressions to cause problems when really they could easily suck it up" + "people fake disabilities and being trans for attention". these are reactionary concerns, no matter how artfully they are dressed in social justice language. kiwifarms in particular was very, very good at this- they loved finding the people they stalked to be racist, homophobic, ableist, etc, not because they thought those things were wrong (it was their hobby to be these things!) but because they delighted in identifying hypocrisy, stirring up drama, + destroying people's reputations.

this is hard to explain bcuz i blacked out the names, but if you have a passing familiarity with fascist/reactionary online spaces, particularly the history of kiwifarms, you will know that reactionaries have their own 'pet leftists', just like we have our 'pet fascists' (shapiro, alex jones, tucker carlson, etc). that is, ppl they obsessively follow, harass, + scrutinize + come to believe are representative of everything that we believe. these ppl are rarely ppl who are actually prominent in our online spaces but online reactionaries often believe we are just as obsessed with these people as they are, but as unquestioned paragons of virtue + brilliance. namedropping these ppl is often an accidental tip of the hat, particularly when the ppl aren't on tumblr, haven't been a topic of community discussion for quite some time, or run in a different circle than us (reactionaries don't understand that there are actually thousands of leftist social groups which have very little overlap with some others- pronouns in bio does not mean someone knows or cares about contrapoints, for instance)

tl;dr this ask is a fantastic example of the rhetorical features bait that someone might actually take seriously.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

oi oi maggots i have a PO box (kinda) now

SOOOO I HAVE AN ADDRESS YOU CAN SEND LETTERS OR ANYTHING TO (FOR THOSE CONCERNED, NO, THIS IS NOT MY ACTUAL ADDRESS, IT GOES TO A POSTMASTER IN MY CITY). MY MUM MANAGED TO GET HOLD OF IT DESPITE INDIA POST BEING SHADY BECAUSE WELL IT'S MY BIRTHDAY ON MAY 7 AND I'D LOVE TO HEAR FROM Y'ALL. NOT FOR THE BIRTHDAY JUST IN GENERAL. I LOVE HEARING FROM YOU.

Asmi Munipella C/O Post Master Talaghattpura Post Office 15/3, BESCOM Road, Paramount Gardens, Talaghattapura, Bengaluru, Karnataka 560109 India

SO YES WAHOO! Tagging @eybefioro, @queermarzipan and @howmanyholesinswisscheese coz y'all had asked for it.

OH AND ALSO IF YOU WANNA SEND ME AN EMAIL ANYTIME ABOUT ANYTHING YOU CAN DO THAT TOO! JUST IN CASE MY MENTAL HEALTH GETS FUCKY AND I'M NOT ON TUMBLR FOR A WHILE OR IF YOU WANNA SAY SOMETHING LONGER OR ANY REASON IDK. WHY AM I YELLING.

THIS IS MY EMAIL: asmicontact66@gmail.com

(it is 666 in spirit. i was just trying to be professional when i made it.)

ALSO I KNOW SOME OF Y'ALL HAVE BEEN AFRAID TO CONTACT ME. DON'T BE. I'M A WEIRDO. I'M JUST A LITTLE GUY (WITHOUT THE MURDEROUS IMPLICATIONS ASSOCIATED WITH THAT PHRASE ON TUMBLR). I GUARANTEE YOU I'LL BE THRILLED TO HEAR FROM YOU NO MATTER WHAT.

ANYWAY SO MY ANXIETY IS BUILDING BEING ON TUMBLR RN SO UHHHH I LOVE YOU ALL SO SO MUCH I SHALL SEE YOU SOON WHEN IT SUBSIDES AGAIN.

REMEMBER TO OIL YOUR BALLS AND GIRD YOUR LOINS, BE PREPARED FOR ANYTHING AT ALL TIMES AND ALSO EAT YOUR VEGETABLES. WHEE LOVE YOU BYE.

[sublimecatgalaxy]

idk how it’d be done but you’re a genius so some form of spicy enemies-to-lovers type of flirting between Spencer and Reader but in a Christmas setting?? If the Christmas thing is too difficult to place just stick w the flirting bae 💞💞 SO HAPPY SPENCER IS THRIVING ON YOUR BLOG RAHHHH 💃🕺💃🕺💃

man i love your requests. you're the absolute best. i genuinely have no clue how to write enemies to lovers with this man so i wrote more annoyance to lovers LMAO

"You're telling me there's free alcohol out there and you're still stuffing your nose in books?" Spencer sits in front of me, on the ground, littered in a pile of open books that have scribbled writing covering their pages. He looks up at me with a tired look, curls falling in his face as he blows them away, giving me a simple shrug.

"I don't drink." He rolls his eyes at the dramatic groan that leaves me, my arms swinging at my side as I step up to him, ruffling his hair. He squeaks and inches away from my touch, eyes glaring up at me before he references to the books around him with wide eyes, almost saying 'can't you see that I'm busy?'

"Doesn't mean you can't laugh and make fun of those who do. Penelope is fall down drunk, Spence." I giggle, sitting down beside him with a sigh but not before sneaking a glance at Penelope who's clinging to Derek as they dance. "C'mon, it's the Holidays." He just nods and continues to read, nimble fingers skimming against the pages.

It took a month for Penelope and I to convince Hotch to let us hold a family work party here at the office, let alone on Christmas Day. We did everything, ordered the food, decorated, went to the liquor store and spent way too much. But I can already imagine Penelope's disappointment when she sobers up and learns that Spencer didn't participate.

"Trust me, I'd spew one fact about how the Catholics stole holiday traditions from the Pagans and they'd be kicking me out." A frown tugs on his lips and I go to argue with him but quickly realize he's probably right. The rest of the team does have a lack of patience when dealing with Spencer and his fun facts, facts that I could listen to him talk about for hours.

But I think that's just me.

"Well, I think all of your facts are kinda cool." I bump his shoulder with my own, loving the gentle blush that spreads across his cheeks as he sends me a soft smile, eyes flickering back and forth between mine with furrowed brows.

"Are you drunk too?" A tipsy giggle escapes me but I just shake my head, ignoring the obvious buzz that rages through my veins.

"Not too horribly."

"I was going to say, you never compliment me." He scoffs but his implication only offends me and my hand raises to rest over my heart as he rolls his eyes at my feigned offense.

"Maybe if you were nicer to me, I'd compliment you more." I shove him, pulling a cute laugh from him and he finally shuts the book in his lap, turning to me completely with a cocky smile.

"I'm always nice to you. It's not my fault you're always wrong and hate being corrected." My jaw drops at his teasing, not completely prepared for him to be able to dish it as well as I do. Maybe he needs to stop spending so much time with Derek.

"Ouch, see what I mean?" I chuckle, lip jutting out in a pitiful pout. "C'mon, I even put up the Christmas tree and hung all the dreidel cutouts." He smiles softly at my whining, eyes briefly lifting to the conference room ceiling to look at my heartfelt decorations.

"I give your inclusivity credit."

"Can I at least help you with whatever it is you're so caught up in?" I ask, reaching out to take the book from his lap and he immediately protests but I just send him a stern look.

"What would you get out of it?" He asks, brows furrowed cutely.

"Spending time with my most favorite genius is pretty good." His cheeks darken once more, blush climbing down his neck and below his sweater that hugs his torso. "Maybe you'll just have to owe me a dance." It's not the first time I've tried to pull physical intimacy out of him other than the incessant teasing that he throws my way. I've tried to get hugs out of him, high fives (which typically fly with him) and I've even gone as far as inviting him out to the club with Penelope, Morgan and I when we're out of town.

But he always gives me the same answer.

"I don't dance."

"I can be pretty persuasive." His eyes gawk at the hand that reaches out to rest on his thigh, tongue sweeping out to wet his chapped lips. He struggles to catch him breath, chest rising and falling in staggered breaths, wide eyes eventually rising to look at me.

"Are you flirting with me on the Lord's Day?" He asks breathlessly, lips rising in a small smirk and my jaw drops in obvious shock.

"Are you, Spencer Reid, being sarcastic?" I ask, reaching out to slap his chest but he just giggles sweetly, hands pushing my own away. "Wow, I'm almost proud." I snicker, feeling so lucky to have all of his attention for even a brief moment, loving the weight of his eyes as they look over me in my ugly holiday sweater.

"Yeah, well, you rub off on me, I guess." His voice is timid and smile is bashful, lip tucked between his teeth and I smile warmly.

"If Morgan's teaching you to flirt, tell him to keep it up."

"He says I have hidden game that I just 'suck at using'." He chuckles, brows furrowing in subtle confusion but I know that he knows he's attractive and it all chalks up to his intelligence and kind eyes.

"I'd say he's pretty damn right." I chuckle, fingers brushing against his own on the floor between us and I avert my eyes from him, knowing I won't be able to look him in the eyes after my next blatantly inappropriate comment. "Pull out some magic tricks and my panties would be gone."

"Oh my god, stop."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the heart @vampviolets@haylee-e @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife

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[maneaterss]

-peace

"be at peace with the things you cant change, ill be naked when i leave i was naked when i came"

-

pairing: richarlison x insert

summary: two lovers endure their last night together.

cw: implications of sex, angst.

authors note: first tumblr writing thing ever idk how to do this please comment or whatever so i don't get unmotivated and PLEASEEEE leave requests im begging!! so happy argentina won the wc today though they all deserves it.

-

flashbacks of last nights lingering touches and sloppy kisses in the back of a taxi bring you back to reality as you sit with your legs hung over his bed, your headache persistent but not as evident as the distress on both of your faces. he couldnt even look at you as he pulled his boxers back on and you your shirt.

"should i call you a cab?" he asks, only now daring to look in your eyes- the first real look in days, and it was obvious he was doing this to avoid the much needed conversation.

you pulled your jeans on and looked back at him as you buttoned them, "thats it?" his eyes don't skip a beat before they tear away from yours and onto the wall behind you. "seriously richarlison thats fucking it?"

somewhere in your heart this was your final cry for help in this relationship, you hoped and prayed in your head that he would realize that he wants to try things with you again and that he's just not ready to abandon you just let, and you would jump into his arms and tell him how much you love him.

"what do you want me to say, y/n."

"tell me you don't love me anymore," tears were threatening to leak from your eyes, "or tell me why you had to fuck me one more time before you ended us."

he laughed and ran his hand down his face.

he laughed

"why do you need to hear it if you already know?" he muttered, suffering wasnt even beginning to explain what you were feeling, your heart must have quite literally shattered. you just couldn't understand how he was upset with your mere presence but you can still manage to look into his eyes without remembering the man you shared everything with, the man who would stare at you for hours and admire your features, who'd buy you your favorites things and wash your hair at night, who'd kiss every inch of your body and tell you how perfect you were.

your face was blank but a tear fell, and in that moment something snapped in him. his eyes softened and his arms fell to his side as he rushed over to wrap his arms around you and breath into your neck, telling you those beautiful things that you'd never hear from his lips after tonight, you pushed and shoved- you refused to be intoxicated by his love when you didn't even have it anymore, but he didn't move. his grip around you tightened as you felt him shake followed by an escaped sob.

you broke down as-well, sliding down the wall to the floor where you both sat, his back against the wall and his front against you where you sit in between his legs. you were both a mess of tears and more sobs, "im so sorry." you heard from his scratchy voice, "god im so sorry." he put his chin on top of your head as he clenched his jaw.

you stayed like this until the dark sky faded into yellow through his apartment windows, and even then- in his arms you could still feel his absence.

after that you would only see him in occasional social media posts or interviews, and you would never admit that you'll still watch him play and imagine it was you sitting in the stands again cheering him on.

-

[wormlette]

I do think a LOT about why Chilchuck would join the "save Falin" dungeon dive at all tbh and it makes me feel like eating drywall. Namari is the one who brings up the "I figured you'd be the first one to leave, you never take a job without getting paid" and he's like yeah. I do insist on payment up front. But do you think he was ever going to bring up his motivations on his own? If Namari hadn't? I don't think he would talk about it because I don't think it's really that simple. We find out in the ep that just aired a few things--

1) Chil is paid in advance, and however that works, he's apparently already been contracted for future dungeon dives too ? 2) The adventurer's community is tight-knit and full of gossip, so the things you do will have impact on what kind of work you can do going forward.

There are other things we know about Chil:

1) he's worked for Laios' party for three years. Namari was a member before him (she joined at the same time the husband hunter and some tall man guy joined, iirc) and Shuro was a member after him, but after those two leave, he's the person who's worked with the Toudens for the longest. 2) He's had some really shitty jobs in his past, especially pre-union. He understands very well what kinds of things people will use half-foots for. 3) He is thinking about retiring. He was going to retire before joining Laios' party.

And one thing we learned in the very first episode -- Laios told Marcille and Chilchuck that they should sell their equipment so he could go down on his own to rescue Falin. Chilchuck asks him if he's suicidal and then invites himself along for absolutely everything that goes down after. He's more ride-or-die about eating monsters than anyone other than Senshi. Him breaking his contract is obviously not something Laios would have held against him. Maybe it would have "Changed his clientele" as he says to Marcille about Namari in the latest ep, but also: HE COULD JUST RETIRE.

IDK PERSONALLY I JUST THINK this all adds up to an implication that he is really very fond of the Touden siblings. As Marcille notes when she's making a fanfic of his wife leaving him he's not the type to ever say his feelings out loud so it's not ever really gonna be said in the text of the story and THAT'S WHY I'M HERE. They seem to be a well-renowned party during the events of the story, but when he joined up with them they were just a year out from being bodyguards in a gold-peeling party with a few other no-name adventurers (as far as I know from the extras that have come out so far, the order of main chars joining the party went Laios&Falin->Namari->Chil->Shuro->Marcille.)

Three years AFTER HE WAS ALREADY CONSIDERING RETIRING he is willing to go on a journey that every other character thinks is fucking insane for the chance to rescue Falin, even though he is not an optimistic guy and he probably has a more realistic understanding of how dangerous dungeons are than anybody else in the group. If he started doing dungeon work when he left his home at 14 then he has about 15 years of dungeoneering experience by the time of the story. He would know what he's doing is actually EXTREMELY dangerous in a way resurrection magic doesn't actually eliminate. They are going down into a floor that's so far down the story has expressed "it's really dangerous to go there and most people don't because it will be hard for corpse retrievers and necessary supplies to get to you if you die. if you are eaten you might just be gone beause no one will ever find you."

I think he's harsh on Laios because he really cares about him and Falin. We know he ranks Laios' ability as a party leader as like a 61 or something lmfao but IMHO he is like that stern teacher who is forced by admin to put a 20pt curve on every exam because everybody is fuckin failing. Nobody is doing a good enough job. But he must have faith in the idea that Laios is able to do better if he has the right coaching (kicking and yelling at him). I JUST THINK the Touden party has been the best one he's worked in, or if not the best then his favorite, for him to keep doing it for THIS LONG when he SHOULD absolutely have his pick of contracts, given that "no other half-foots had the expertise necessary to accompany Laios to such a deep floor of the dungeon".

[eroseas]

you stupid bitch.

summary: ellie's tired of you bitching about your dates who all look like her. she puts 2 and 2 together.

word count: 2.9k

cw: not proofread. mdni. 18+ only. smut ; fingering, oral sex, squirting, multiple orgasms, strap-on fucking, name calling ('daddy', 'baby', 'pretty girl'), begging (barely). half-assed argument and cursing.

tags: @anchoeritic , @elliephobic , @scandalcus , @kurosaaki , @elliesstar , @evanpetersluver

an: this is like. straight up filth. idk what the fuck my problem is but i hope its good? i hope you like it?? if i tagged u and ive never really interacted with you, this is basically me like. leaving a gift on your doorstep. notice me. for everyone else i tagged that i interact with you a lot, this is also a gift, but pay more attention to me. te amo muchisimo. enjoy.

It starts with an argument. 

“You let the wrong fucking people love you,” Ellie exclaims, her shoulders lifted up, her eyes searching your face, her tone exasperated, “I’m tired of telling you that you don’t deserve this shit. You never listen to me.” 

You roll your eyes, standing up from her couch a bit too aggressively. It’s not that she doesn’t have a point. She does and that’s the problem. But any time you mention a date going sour, or some weird shit some girl said, her answer is the same. 

‘I don’t know what to tell you’ or ‘Just take my advice and ignore that one’ or some other vague bullshit that doesn’t actually serve as advice. Dina tells you it’s not the best idea to date girls that consistently look like Ellie and then go and complain to Ellie that they’re not her, but you didn’t think it’d boil over into something like this. You argued that it was a good coping mechanism; you can’t date Ellie ‘cause she’s your friend and you don’t wanna ruin that, so you date girls that look like her. So much for a coping mechanism. 

 You sigh, your eyes squeezing shut, before looking at Ellie who is still seated on her couch, watching you.

“Look,” you start, but Ellie doesn’t let you, instead scoffing and shaking her head. 

“No,” she interrupts, her tone holding no room for argument, “I drop everything to comfort you, you know. It’s not your fault these people treat you like shit, which I will gladly beat their asses, but come on–”

You open your mouth to reply, but she beats you to it again. 

“If you’re gonna ask me to be more supportive, I’m telling you right now that I won’t be. God, sometimes it feels like you date these girls on purpose–” She falters, her eyes flickering from the wall to your face. You freeze. The implications of that sentence could genuinely mean anything. You do purposely date those girls ‘cause they look like her, but has she caught on? She squints, her gaze stony and unreadable. Fuck.

“Why do you even date them?” She questions, standing slowly. You swallow, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. She’s quiet now, stepping closer, like she knows.

“They treat you like shit,” she suddenly points out when you don't answer, her finger outstretched like she’s gonna start counting off everything she’s noticed, “One stood you up and the other stuck you with the bill when she picked out the restaurant.”

You stay quiet, glancing off the side so you don’t have to meet her eyes anymore. She’s relentless, stalking closer to you without any remorse. 

“So, if it’s not their personality, then it’s their looks, right?” She stops in front of you, raising an eyebrow questioningly, but the answer is known already. You huff out a breath, your ears turning pink in embarrassment. You don’t reply, instead opting to cross your arms over your chest. Ellie reaches forward, her index finger and thumb gripping your chin and turning your head so you can face her. 

“I’m talkin’ to you.” She says softly, her face inches from yours, her breath hitting your cheeks. You swallow, nodding a little, your eyes scanning her features. It’s a questionable position, but you really do not want her to move. She grins, like she can read your mind, and her hand falls away from your face. Your lips part, and you try to say something– anything– but nothing comes out. 

“You’re pretty when you’re embarrassed.” She mumbles, and you shift on your feet, scoffing. You try to think of something intelligent to say, ‘cause this is Ellie, your friend, the girl you’ve talked to and bickered with for a while now. She gives you a look like she’s daring you to say something, to stop her. It dawns on you now that she wants to know if you’re interested. You breathe in to settle the butterflies in your stomach. 

“I’d be prettier doing something else,” you say, a little breathy, but it’s enough to make her eyes go dark, her lips twitching into a smirk. She hums, tilting her head like she’s studying you. A minute goes by, and it’s a minute too long. She reaches her hands up to cup your cheeks and dives forward, her lips pressing into yours roughly, like a desire that has barely been kept in. You can’t help the little moan that leaves you, but she swallows it up greedily, gently nudging you back towards her couch.

You try your best to get there through memory alone; your eyes are shut tight and your hands are gripping her wrists. The pads of her thumbs are pressing against your jaw, her hands keeping your face close to hers. You grunt when your calves hit the couch, and as you fall backwards to collapse onto the cushion, Ellie falls with you.

She straddles your lap with ease, her thighs caging you in and her hands still dangerously close to your neck. She briefly pulls away to look you in the eye, her gaze softer than you anticipated it to be. It’s a silent question; a chance to pretend it didn’t happen and to go your separate ways. You reach for her lips with yours, and she easily falls back into rhythm. You let your hands rest on the tops of her thighs, squeezing gently as she lightly thrusts forward. 

You can’t remember what the fuck you two were even talking about, and you don’t care to know, not when her tongue is lightly skimming over your bottom lip. Your lips part immediately, and she slowly licks her away into your mouth. Your tongue meets hers halfway, and she lets out a harsh breath through her nose. 

The room is starting to feel too hot, and your hands start to roam up Ellie’s shirt, her skin burning to the touch. You press a hand flush against her back, pushing her closer to you, before you tug at the shirt. She pulls away momentarily, tugging it off with ease before doing the same for you. You glance down at her chest, a very quiet whine pulling at your vocal cords when you notice she’s not even fucking wearing anything, and she laughs softly at your reaction. She goes to cup your breasts, her thumb caressing the hem of your bra, and you sit up to reach behind you and undo the clasp. It falls away from your chest, and you toss to the side where your shirts now lay. 

“Fuck,” Ellie curses quietly, her fingers running over your nipples, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” 

You hum, your hands wandering to the waistband of her sweats this time, where you undo the knot with quick fingers. 

“I told you I’d be prettier doing something else,” you remind her, and she bites her lip, shifting to the right so she can lay down. She props herself up, nodding her head at you. You move quickly, desperate now, and tug off her sweatpants with ease. Surprise, surprise: she wasn’t wearing anything under that either. 

“Fuck me.” You mutter, shifting on your knees and leaning down. She smirks up at you, her freckled face flushed pink, her eyes blown wide. 

“Plannin’ on it, pretty girl.” 

You don’t reply, instead placing kisses on Ellie’s neck, moving down her chest and stomach. She lets out little sighs, and her hips shift up involuntarily when you reach just above her pussy. She looks down at you, and it’s a sight you could get used to. She has one of her arms resting behind her head, and another extended so her hand rests on the back of yours. She gently nudges you closer, and you hum, pressing a kiss to her cunt. Her breath hitches, and she groans as you lick, slow at first. Your tongue gently prods against the folds of her pussy, her breath quickening with each swipe of your tongue. 

Her hips lift off the couch as her pussy chases the warmth of your mouth. You snicker quietly, but quickly resume your prior task. She relaxes slowly, her moans quiet and discreet. You dip down and try your best to lick into her hole, collecting her juices on the tip of your tongue. You lick up to her clit, and she shudders, cursing under her breath. 

“Pretty girl,” Ellie calls out, looking down at you, her voice just a little breathy, “Let me fuck your face, baby, please.” 

You nod eagerly, sticking your tongue out against her cunt. She immediately grips the back of your head, and gently starts working her hips to rub her pussy against your tongue. Her moans start picking up in volume, and her thrusts do, too. It’s relentless, the way she fucks your face. She’s desperate for it; how could she not be? You’re laying there all pretty, your ass in the air and your head tucked between her thighs. Her juices and your own spit drip down your chin, and her thighs easily get slick with it. You bring a hand up to her cunt as she thrusts against your face, two fingers gently prodding against her hole. She falters then. 

“Fuck,” she groans, nodding her head, a blissed smile pulling at the apples of her cheeks, “Go ahead, baby, such a good girl for me.” 

You whine at the praise and start pumping two fingers in and out of her cunt, your tongue lapping at her clit. Ellie’s moans grow louder as her thrusts turn sloppy. You sit patient and pretty, your jaw aching from the position you’ve been in. You look up at Ellie, her eyebrows pinched as she grows closer to her orgasm, and you slowly lift your head. Her dark, cloudy green eyes open to peer down at you, and you swallow, nervousness making your stomach jump. You continue to pump your fingers in and out of her cunt, and rest your head on her thigh.

“You gonna cum, daddy?”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what you just said, and her head falls back against the arm of the couch, a moan punched out of her.

“Jesus, fuck–”

You grin as you press you tongue back against her clit, pleased with yourself for getting it right. Ellie had briefly mentioned it when talking about one of her old hook-ups, and now that you had this chance, you had to try it for yourself. Ellie curses as she chases her orgasm, your name falling from her lips. You continue where you left off, and you keep going until Ellie cums all over your mouth and chin, until her body seizes up and her thighs lock around your head. You let Ellie ride out her orgasm, and you sit patient with your tongue out and fingers in her cunt. 

She finally relaxes her grip, and you pull your fingers out of her cunt as gently as you can. You pull away from her, your inner thighs damp from your own wetness. She’s already sitting up to grab at you, her cheeks red and her pupils blown. She presses her lips to your collarbone, pulling you close onto her lap. You straddle her, whimpering as your pussy rubs against her thigh. 

“You gonna take care of me, daddy?” You mumble, slipping your fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck, tugging gently as she hums in response. She wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against her.

“Yeah, baby,” she replies, her voice deep and sultry, “Why don’t you lay down and get pretty for daddy?”

Hearing Ellie call herself daddy is a completely different experience than calling her that yourself. She says it with pride, like she knows it fits her like a glove. You slip off her lap and take the spot on the couch that was previously hers, and she stands, making her way to her bedroom. You shiver at the cold air hitting your skin, and quickly slip off your panties. Ellie doesn’t take very long to come back, but by the time she does come back, your hand is between your thighs and your fingers are teasing your clit. Your eyes are closed, so you flinch when Ellie squeezes the meat on your thigh, tsking. 

“Daddy didn’t say anythin’ about that, pretty girl,” she mutters, and your eyes trail down her chest and stomach, eyeing the strap that she wears. You bite your lip, looking back up at her, feinging innocence. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about, Ells.” 

She looks at you unimpressed, instead opting to reach down between your thighs herself, swatting your hand away. She gently circles your clit, and you shift your hips towards her, whining. A slender finger pushes into your cunt, and you hum in pleasure. She pumps it in and out a few times before pushing in another, then scissors them inside you. You moan, spreading your legs wider. The pleased look on Ellie’s face makes you buzz with excitement. 

“My best girl,” she praises, smiling softly, “So pretty and good for me.” 

A whine gets pulled out of your throat before you can stop it, and she leans down, pressing kisses to your cheeks, then your lips. 

“Please, daddy,” you whisper, looking up into her eyes, “Fuck me, please.” 

Ellie hums, content, curling her fingers inside you. You curse, your back arching. 

“Didn’t even have to ask you to beg,” she quips, smirking. 

She shifts on the couch, pressing her dick against the folds of your pussy, and starts to ease her way in. The stretch is good, and Ellie looks mesmerized by the way her strap gets swallowed by your cunt. You let out pathetic little whimpers, and once she bottoms out, your legs wrap around her hips. She starts thrusting into you slowly, watching your face for any discomfort. 

“Just go–” You gasp out, meeting her eyes, “Daddy, just–” 

You really don’t have to tell her twice. She’s absolutely brutal; her thrusts are persistent to say the least, and she has the best possible angle. The sounds you’re making are completely out of your control, your fingers gripping the cushions of the couch to help ground you. Her grip on your hips is almost bruising, and you won’t be surprised if you’re sore tomorrow. 

“Daddy, fuck– yes, yes,” you babble, your eyes wound up tight, Ellie’s right hand ghosting the top of your abdomen, right under your belly button. You look, curious, and notice the dark look in her eyes, her hand pressing down slowly but surely. You tense.

“You take me so well, baby,” she says, satisfied, “Can feel you right here.” She taps where her hand is for good measure, and you whimper. She continues with her cruel pace, reaching with her thumb to rub at your clit. It sends you into overdrive, the constant pressure on your clit and prostate a perfect combination, and you tense. 

“M’gonna cum, daddy, fuck–” You moan, trying to meet her thrusts in time, and she smiles down at you, nodding.

“Go for it,” she purrs, and it takes one, maybe two thrusts for you to cum on her dick. She fucks you through your orgasm, not stopping until you push at her arms. You breathe in harshly, wiping the sweat off your brow. She watches you, patting your thigh. 

“Not done yet.” Is all she says as she slips out of you without warning, a wiper leaving your mouth at the sudden emptiness that follows. You look up at her in confusion, shaking your head lightly. 

“I came, though,” you say breathlessly, and she nods, situating herself between your thighs, pressing kisses to them.

“One more time,” she assures, “One more time for daddy.” 

You whine when her breath ghosts over your cunt, and nod helplessly, spreading your legs. 

She laps at your pussy like a dog, stuffing her face as close as she can, like she’ll die if she doesn’t. She breathes harshly through her nose, not wanting to waste a second away from your cunt. Her tongue moves expertly, constantly running over your clit. It’s almost too much, the way she pays so much attention to your pussy, but not enough at all. Your hips twitch involuntarily, and you can’t decide if you want to move away or closer. 

Ellie eventually reaches up to hold your hips down, her fingers digging into your skin like before. Your drowning in pleasure, your orgasm creeping up on you a second time. Ellie moves to instead finger you again, her tongue lapping at your clit. You choke out a moan, tensing up. 

“Fuck, Ellie, I’m gonna cum, Ellie, Ellie–” 

You come with a shout, squirting over all over her hand. You gulp in big breaths, melting into her couch as she sits up on her knees, shock gracing her features. She watches your face, before diving down to catch your lips in a heated kiss. She licks into your mouth, and you whimper at the taste of yourself on her tongue. She pulls away, sighing happily. 

“You are the hottest fucking girl to ever exist. Fuck.” 

You laugh at her, throwing an arm over your eyes, shaking your head. 

“You stupid bitch,” you giggle, and she joins you, moving to lay next to you. She holds you close to you don’t fall off the couch and presses a kiss to your head. She shrugs her shoulders, now peppering kisses to your sweaty face. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbles. 

At least she’s got you.

[ianthoni]

I’ve recently watched old smosh videos with Ian and Anthony (some of them were around the time they labelled as "what friendship" 2017) They did some light jabs at each other sometimes but what stood out to me most was Anthony often implying that Ian is queer. It wasn’t the same haha you’re gay jokes they did in their 20s. idk just something that was on my mind

Oh he does this a lot. Yes in their twenties it was kinda "you wear pink that's gay" "oh don't cry like a baby you homo" but he never stopped making those implications that Ian likes men. Even in 2023-24 he still does it btw. Asking him how he knows that long dick man Ian was talking about in the FwS or why he knows Brokeback mountain so well etc. He never stopped the implications and Ian didn't deny it either. I think they both wanted the other to come out and that was their attempt on it? Idk.

[methed-up-marxist]

judith butler (rancid liberal pacificist bitch) says that one of psycho-analysises main contributions is to take seriously the implications of the state of radical dependence that we are born into. its hard not to break the feeling that many people are just sad about not being able to tell themselves robinson crusoe stories anymore. And more than that it feels like people seem to think there isn't something deeply important captured by "independence" that retains its importance even it as it comes to us so often with all of this narrow-indivualist baggage. I firmly believe if everyone did what was best for them we would have communism tommorow and it is by making people unable to see themselves in the rest of the world that this potential is foreclosed, people are unable to articulate how only a broad-scale transformation can allow them to step forward as indivuals. Henry Miller says - and this has always stuck with me from when i read it in, i think, foucaults foreword to anti-oedipus - "we must die as egos and be born again in the swarm, not seperate and self-hypnotised but indivual and related". Big prompter behind my bug obsession. I can't help but break the feeling that our society has become so techo-scientific or "rational" or whatever the fuck that like the schema for even theorising what this would mean as an actual way for conducting a life just is inaccesible. I do really take seriously and believe that the intercourse of one's life determines not the specific nature of one's thought but definitly the range of formations it is able to take. idk, i feel so fucking trapped. Suicidaity, self-destruction, narrow-minded obstinance they all start to have the appeal of a sort of moral strength to them in this situation, refusing to enter into the kind of level of thought where a mathematical calculus of ur best interests or "what i should really be doing" can even become articulable. When my husband smashed that window and completely fucked the next few weeks of our life up all I could see was the strength involved in allowing those emotions to be so close to ur being. The most proud of myself I've ever been is when I've been getting the stuff together to end my own life and the deepest shame is when you wake up in the morning or make the call asking to be taken to the hospital. I don't want to feel that shame again.

[boyfhee]

· BELLADONNA · lee heeseung

SYNOPSIS · sometimes, love is not about the sacrifices you make, but about the selfishness you hide.

GENRE · thriller, historical

WORD COUNT · 5k

WARNINGS · slight mentions of drugs and alcohol, slight implications of sexual activity ( not between the main characters ) graphic descriptions of injuries and associated weapons, blood, descriptions of graphic acts of violence, descriptions of a person in a very bad state. over all, this could be disturbing to some extent so please watch out before reading.

NOTE · thought i was slaying with this but i got sleepy and idk what happened in the middle, you're on your own. for @koishua's there were two collab i am literally so embarrassed fr bff idk what's ab to come, the style part of my writing yeeted itself somewhere in between i have no recollection of what happens in the middle . vie i apologise in advance. OK A FEW THINGS BYR :

don't trust me on the history here. i don't know when atropa belladonna was introduced in korea, google doesn't help. just know, it isn't native to east asia

the clans mentioned here are real though none of them reigned in the timeline this fic is set in ( since monarchy ended in korea after the end of Japanese occupation, please correct me if i'm wrong ) so, every character here is rather a descendant than a ruling figure. moreover, i don't know if lee heeseung is from jeonju lee clan or not so please do not rely on my information

atropa belladonna is toxic and contains neurotoxic alkaloids. no it was never given to pregnant women ( it's dangerous ) the severeness of this drug is heavily ignored and watered down in this fic. do no associate with the plant / drug irl

the wedding 'dress' here refers to a hanbok

THIS IS FICTION ! DONT RELY ON THE INFO HERE im saying half of it is wrong

“The best thing about being identical twins,”— Ah-young hands over her school bag to you, carefully stepping across the short trail of bush that ran along the length of the roads inside the public tutoring house— “we can switch places and no one would ever know.” 

PRESENT DAY, 1951

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t Ah-young be the one trying this?” 

“She’s trying on another dress,” Your caretaker hissed. “It’ll suit her if it suits you. You both look the same, anyway,” The first time you met her was when you and your sister were five, in the yard, picking tangerines for your mother— Madame Bella, as people called her.  

Belladonna, ‘beautiful woman’ in Italian, refers to a common cosmetic practice during the Renaissance, in which women used the plant to dilate their pupils, making their eyes look bigger. However, the name popularised in Myeongryebang in the late eighteenth century, originally assigned to women with bewitching beauty, who were known to be blessed by the Gods on the day of their birth. Atropa Belladonna, a plant introduced in Korea in the early sixteenth century, deemed illegal and marketed at a high price for those who desired it’s captivating effect, was taken and prepared into a syrup to be given in drops to women with milk in the first three months of her pregnancy, in hopes that she would give birth to beautiful children, and the bloodline will be graced by beauty for generations to come. 

Its plant was grown by the previous Lady of your house— the Belladonna Residency— who was known for her blinding attractiveness. As time passed, legend dissolved along with other historical practices, leaving behind a few of those who continued to believe, your great grandmother being one of them. And on a full moon night, with nightshade in its full bloom, your mother was born. 

“Oh, Miss Ko, I’ll take these two,” Ah-young stepped outside from her room, handing the dresses to your caretaker.“I can’t believe I’m getting married already,”

“Right, it feels like just yesterday you asked me to attend History lessons in your place because you disliked the teacher,” She sits next to you on your bed in her chemise, not caring enough to put on a shawl even during the peak of winters. 

One of the earliest memories you have with your twin sister is about the two of you attending lessons in place of each other. Ah-young filled in for your piano lessons while you did the same for History. A sense of pride followed the two of you around every time you successfully fooled your tutors under your father’s nose. Perhaps, it’s the gift of being identical— to be present and yet, be completely invisible. To win games and lodge fear in your younger cousins was the best use you both make of your striking familiarities. Amusement drizzled through your eyes every time you and Ah-young came up with another childish trick, although it didn’t last longer than when you both turned ten and met Heeseung. 

She takes your hand. “I wanted you to get married first, Yn,” 

Ah-young, meaning, grace and kindness. 

“Why?” 

“It’s scary. I’ve seen how it was for mother. So, I wanted to get married after you, for you have always been the braver one,” Your mother’s name was Sang-hee, who was married to the one of the most influential jewel merchants— your father. Sang-hee, benevolence and pleasure, that’s what her name means. They say, the meaning that a person’s name holds reflects upon their life. Names are not just words to distinguish an individual from the other, but rather, they define the person for who they are, and what they will become in life. From your maternal grandmother, Min Hei-ran from the Yoheung Min Clan, to your father, Kim Yong-san, who is a descendant of Gwangsan Kim Clan, everyone has a few things common in them— versatility, grace, wealth, desire. 

Names are for people just the way colours are for paintings. 

“But now, I have Heeseung,” The frown of her face morphs into a gleeful smile. “I’m not scared anymore,” The earliest memory you have of envy and regrets was when you were ten, and when Ah-young brought Heeseung home to introduce him to you and consequently, the whole family. 

Coming from Jeonju Lee Clan, or more appropriately, one of the descendants of the same, you knew Heeseung would hold an important place in your household. Your father focuses on establishing secure connections with prominent families while your mother, well, Miss Ko— who your father married when you and Ah-young were eight, after your birth mother hung herself from the cherry tree that faced your shared bedroom with your sister— pursued an unwavering goal of acquiring wealth and exploiting luxuries after becoming the Lady of the Belladonna Residence. Heeseung, though for you, was a ray of hope. 

Not a day was spent without you intoxicating your blood with regrets of skipping piano lessons and making Ah-young take those for you. The reason could be anywhere between not wanting to trim your perfectly manicured nails, and the fear of facing failure after knowing that your hands were nowhere as swift as hers when they danced on the keys, to the very melodies they produced. In a letter shared with your grandmother after your mother’s death, she quoted, ‘A noble blood shall bleed like one,’ Eight year old you didn’t understand the weight of those words, but thirteen year old did then you saw Miss Ko, the woman who had claimed to love your father dearly, bring drunken men into her bedroom on nights your father didn’t come home for the sake of business. The fruits of Belladonna are poisonous, presumably deadly. The tree withstands the changing of seasons, from harsh monsoon winds to calloused winter streams laced with snow. Every leaf plucked and every scar that wounds the trunk, a heart so determined to protect what belongs to it, a poison that takes life from the ones who dare ingest it raw. 

The tree is old but it never weakened. Your mother died wearing the royal hanbok that was passed down through generations by newlywed women, hiding the scars on her skin that tell tales of every moment that she spend being mistreated by your father, for a noble blood shall bleed like one, your mother never hung her head low even after a war she lost. 

“Why do you love Ah-young?” It’s a question that ought to be asked long ago, when you had first heard about their relationship. Heeseung has been the man of every woman’s dream, the ideal son-in-law for every mother with a daughter. Yet, fate guided him towards the Belladonna tree in your backyard in the middle of the night, and you knew he’s the one you’d need. Despite meeting Ah-young first, you and him were closer than any other companions you have had. He would walk you around his estate, tell you about the distant seas you’ve only heard of in stories, of the girls that chimed around him and how it makes your skin itch with disgust, because no one deserved him more than you. If so, then why her. 

“She’s beautiful,” He responded almost immediately. 

“Does that mean you love me too?” And words fell off your mouth involuntarily. Maybe because you’ve been keeping them in for so long, this was bound to happen someday. “We look the same,” 

A pause. He took a sharp breath in, averting his eyes away from you. It felt like ignorance at first, as if he’s avoiding your words, suppressing an urge to tell you how gauche they sound. The unsophisticated behaviour didn’t suit you, but every memory you share with him resurfaces every time the picture of him and Ah-young at the temple crosses your mind. Envying your sister is new, for you have always received the same things— clothes, toys, jewelries, footwears, anything materialistically possible. Neither of you have lived a life much different from each other. Seeing Ah-young has always been like seeing yourself, living with yourself, watching yourself do things in a different fashion. It has been as if you’ve been living your life with two different perspectives, but watching her with Heeseung felt foreign, like some parasite has taken your place and is living as if it belongs to her. But you can’t show it, so you continued with a chuckle, “I’m kidding,” 

“I think it’s the colours,” You realised later that what you’ve been thinking of as sheer ignorance was actually hesitation. “Red suits her more,” He added, fingers fiddling over his engagement ring. “as for you, white has always been your colour,” 

You’ve been thinking about white and red since that day. 

Day and night, awake and while sleeping, eating, bathing; his words have been plaguing your mind ever since you had that conversation with him. ‘Red suits her more,’ it rings in your ear like the sinister cawing of a crow. ‘White has always been your colour,’ it comes off as the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard. You remember him ordering cherry topped desserts every time you both ate out, the reason being, cherries are his favourite fruit and red happens to be his favourite colour. Heeseung tells you about his preferences and you hear his talk as if they’re your own, and with every ounce of information that you learn about him, a new you is born. You never liked red but started wearing it more around him, red lipstick for the evening you were supposed to tell him your feelings before he sent a messenger notifying you that he wouldn’t be able to come. You wouldn’t have minded being disrespected if he hadn’t gone to the academy to visit your sister and congratulate her with red roses for winning the debate.   

You rush to her room and shut the door the moment she steps out to finalise a few things regarding the wedding. You take her wedding dress out from the cupboard, there’s jealousy oozing through the cracks on your skin, fingertips leaving prints of greed all over the silk fabric as you stand in front of the mirror, one hand holding it in front of you while the other brushes over it’s soft creases, admiring it’s heavenly look. You’re picturing yourself in the attire, next to your Heeseung, celebrating your day, just like it was supposed to be from the beginning. Sisters for life, what everyone taught you both as children. ‘Because your sister is your biggest fear and your greatest weapon, treat her with tenderness,’ quoted your grandmother. But you’ve attended all the history lessons for her; and the lesson of History is that no one ever learns. 

Your eyes traverse between the dress and the image of you in the mirror, heart sighing with admiration that screamed of wanting more. A smile makes it way up your lips, fingers wrapping tighter around the hem of your dress— a promise you make with the silk, to never let go. You twirl around, the image of you in that dress next to Heeseung getting clearer and clearer in your mind. You’ve spent your childhood playing into each other’s roles. You know it in your blood, the foot she steps forward first while walking, the turn she sleeps, the style she dances, the pattern she breathes. Your eyes land upon a photo frame of her and Heeseung from the day of their engagement. A sharp breath in, you straighten your back, mimicking her pose from the picture, a soft sigh out; sometimes, you think you are more like Ah-young than she, herself, could ever be. 

“What are you doing?” The door flies open, your blood runs cold. The sight of your sister has never been so frightening. 

Ah-young has been all about sharing, from elite delicacies to credits for things you didn’t even help her enough with, to reach the finished product. To think, she gets more of her traits from your aunt. You don’t remember your mother being much of a saint, except when it came to her daughters. You remember her cradling you in her lap on nights neither of you could sleep. While most of the mothers would recite tales of fairies and land of sweets, your mother told you about the horrendous acts of people, the traps set by family members, about how trust is nothing but giving someone the power over yourself. She’d warn you about the horrors of the nights, the limits that men would cross to strip a woman off her dignity, the acts your best companion would exhibit behind your back to step over you. She would teach you of ways you could secure your position in the hierarchy— 

“Oh, well, I was seeing how I’d look in a wedding dress,” —and of ways you could acquire what if yours, and if, for some reason, you’re unable to find one, she’d teach you to make one. 

“You would not look much different from me,” She mumbles up close, standing right behind you and holding you steady by your shoulder with one hand while the other lifts up your chin to face the mirror. “Just as pretty,” 

“I love how dreamy it looks,” She takes the dress from your hand, putting it around herself and twirls like a toddler. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, eyes glistening with all the happiness the world could offer to the mortals. Her words talk about her content with the dress and how perfect it looks, while your mind paints a picture of Ah-young standing next to Heeseung on your wedding day, and you know she’s trying to steal him from you just as she has always done. “The design, patterns, and such fine work of embroidery. Don’t you think so?” 

You walk to the drawer behind her. “Yes, it’s spellbindingly beautiful,” 

“I’ve always thought white of as an empty colour, it doesn’t quite fit me. But wearing this, I look pretty,” Every passing second erodes the patience you’ve been keeping in for years. Her voice stings in your ears, making you feel like they’d bleed out of pain. She looks at herself in the mirror, the smile never leaving her face, saccharine words of love leaving her mouth relentlessly; you want to shut her up. A knife from the kitchen would do the work, you can slice off her tongue, or take the embroidery box from her bedside table and sew the mouth with nylon. Your breath gets faster, shallower than it was, ears begging you to stop her from talking further, but she doesn’t shut up. You pick up the flower vase. “White must really suit me!” 

And the next second, she’s on the floor, succumbing to unconsciousness while looking at you with eyes that call for help, despite knowing what you did. Her eyes shut close, silence takes over the room, you stand still with the flower vase in your hand. A part of you feels content, she’s gone, while the other fears the reality of being caught. You consider running away, but her words ring inside your head like a tinnitus, making it unable for you to think straight. And so, you drag her unconscious body under your bed, wiping the droplets of blood from the wooden floor with acetone, hoping it would go away. But the voices compel you to go further. 

You snatch the dress out of her grip before kicking her under the bed. “White has always been my colour.” 

A part of you hopes she never wakes up, for this is your chance. Another part of you wants her to be alright, because you wouldn’t be able to answer if someone asked for the two of you together. Though, the voice tells you to keep going— kill her, throw her, burn her, all sorts of things that have never crossed your mind in any situation. You could go, grab water and help her wake up, but the picture of you and Heeseng appears before your eyes, and suddenly you want her gone. 

“Your sister is not coming down for dinner?” Miss Ko asks when only you show up for dinner instead of the two of you. She has been working for the Residence for years but still hasn't learnt how to distinguish between the two of you. She has been looking after the two of you ever since you both were four but, there hasn’t been one day where she actually cared about you and your sister. Ko’s goal was to earn as much as she could, to live a lavish life, and she would go beyond extents if it means she could get what she dreams for. Maybe, it’s another reason why you’ve always found her similar to yourself. 

“She’s not hungry as of now,” You reply with a smile, a smile that otherwise dances on Ah-young’s face. “I’ll take her food upstairs,” A part of you wants to poison her dinner, easiest of all methods. Or maybe, you should melt her face with concentrated acids to create disfigurements and throw her by the city outskirts so that no one suspects who she actually is. You can stab her and hire guards who would feed her to hungry wolves and vultures. There are a number of other ways, burying her in your backyard and making it seem like she ran away— you ran away, because from today onwards, you were going to live as her, for her identity is all you need to make Heeseung yours.                                              

“Ah-young, I have brought you dinner!” Your voice sounds cynically sweet, words laced with deadly adoration, hoping to see your sister, but the place where you left her remains empty. You pause, fingers gripping the diner plate firmly. “My lovely sister, you never learn, do yo—” And a strike from behind you sends you to the floor, pain radiating from the site of injury to your entire head. You turn your head around, your sister stands with her jewellery box in her hands, shaking with fear. Your hands are covered with the dinner you brought her, and now you wish they were coloured in her blood. 

“Yn,” She crouches in front of you, putting the jewellery box aside, taking your face in her hands. “This is not you,” And listening to her talk like she actually knew you made your blood boil, so you grab her neck, holding her down to the floor, watching her tap your hands to let go while struggling to breathe, with a smile on your face. Her face turns pale, eyes shutting close before you let go, loosening the grip around her throat. 

“No, this is you,” You brush strands of hairs off her face, hovering over the frightened figure that struggled and coughed to breath. “I am you, Ah-young, the one who’s getting married tomorrow,” A sinister touch graces your words, a smile that keeps growing wider with every sob that chokes out of her mouth. There’s an odd sense of satisfaction in the way she begs for her life, as if the Heavens are making her pay for stealing what belonged to someone else, and you wish you could relive this moment for as long as you wanted. 

Her hand reaches out for yours. “Why are you doing this?” She cries out. 

“Right, why do I have to do this?” And you sit back, pretending to think of reasons to justify your actions, although there is only one explanation: Heeseung, and you continue, “I am pretty. I have no reason to be jealous of you,” 

“We’re literally the same,” Somehow, she manages to draw a chuckle out of her, attempting to pull herself up and sit straight. You’ve come to despise those words, ‘twins,’ ; ‘same,’ they make you feel suffocated. Ah-young always had the habit of using those against you, and every time those words rolled off her tongue, it felt like you'd ripped off your identity, not that you had one that belonged solely to you in the first place. You try to imagine Heeseung’s reaction in this situation, would he take your side or hers, or if he would even care who survives because you both look the same, it barely makes any difference. 

But, somewhere inside, you know he would choose her over you.  “That’s right,” There’s firmness in your voice, a sense of hatred, as your hand ghosts up her cheeks and grabs onto her hair. “Then why do you get to have all the good things?” 

Perhaps, it’s the fragrance of the nightshade flowers that fill your room and intoxicate your senses, but the blood on your palms feels like jewels of a newlywed, and her pleas to be spared— music to your ears. You always had it in you, the will to fight back, the numbness to fear, the sparks of insanity that blew up and suddenly, your heart is in flames. Normality has always been a paved road, comfortable to walk but no flowers could grow. You were the flower that yearned to bloom, your sister was the tree taking up your sunlight. When a flower doesn’t grow, one shall change the environment it has been planted in, and not the flower itself. The soil must be tilled, weeds should be removed, pests are to be killed, anything unnecessary shall be discarded. You could care less about her silent wails trying to reach across the piece of cloth in her mouth as you dragged her to the basement from under the staircase. Her cries got louder with every step that her head hit down the stairs, across the cold concrete stinging her satiny skin, albeit not enough to cross the walls and reach for help, every second filled you with content; a step closer to the love of your life. 

“Heeseung would never love you,” And silence. The words leave her mouth as soon as you remove the handkerchief. You wanted to hear her beg for her life, to plead forgiveness, to quietly hand over what you wanted if she feared death, but her words come off as a curse, as if she’s trying to anathematise your to-be married life with him, to take away the happiness you’ve been devoid of for years. You could fear her words and the wrath of Gods that may follow along as a consequence of your actions, but you have the desire, and nothing to lose. 

For you have always been a child of war, and Ah-young is simply born with tragedy in her blood. 

The basement served as a cell for solitary confinement for the previous family who lived in the house, for children who displayed unacceptable behaviour and disobeyed their parents, for servants who said more than what was needed, for wives who dared standing on the same level as their husbands. The walls of the house have been renovated over the years, decorated with exquisite wallpapers everytime they have been changed. People fawn upon its beauty, unaware of the secrets it hides deep down below. The walls of the basement have seen a lot over the decades, centuries, even, and the decoloured blood stains on the floor and corners describe each of those stories. One would quiver under the worn out ceiling that feels that it holds eyes and spirits of the dead beyond its arches. Though, Ah-young stares at you with resentment in her stare, one that was filled with hope up until a few minutes ago. 

You could gauge her eyes out, the ones that she’s so proud of, the ones that hold all the memories of Heeseung that should’ve been yours. Or, you could carve her plum skin with incisions and lacerations, painful enough that her soul withers inside, deep enough to leave scars that would make it difficult for anyone to believe she's the daughter of the most beautiful woman in the state. You could do things no one would do to their siblings— the ten year old didn’t know a day like this would come— but some things are inevitable. The scissors are in your hand, she is in front of you, slouched down, hands tied behind her back with wrists that have been bruised by the rope, oh so poor eyes gleaming with pain and hatred wishing they could do something. The scissors are in your hand, and your hand is on her cheek, the cold metal sending shivers down her spine as you run it down her face— the game was yours to play.  

“Hell, you look so much like me, I can’t even kill you,” You whisper close. The scissor is on her neck, it’s as if you could fear her blood rushing through the arteries, right under the skin. You slide it across her throat, pressing it on her collarbones— Ah-young draws in a quick breath— you pierce through her skin, a minute cut, single tear rolling down her cheek that lands on the back of your hand; it feels like you’re killing yourself. “Well, I guess we’ll get to see each other around, yes?” 

You discard the scissor somewhere behind you, taking a few steps back, watching her fall down to the floor, eyes squeezed shut in excruciating pain. It’s nowhere near what you’ve experienced all these years, alone and in regrets, guilt and depreciation, watching the person you love fall in love with someone else. But, love doesn’t ask for sacrifices, for kindness. Love isn’t about letting go, but instead, it’s about holding onto, love is about crossing the limits to prove that you’re deserving of it; because love has always been about the selfishness your heart conceals. You pick up the handkerchief, your sister chanting trails of nos while shaking her head, throwing her leg around frantically to keep you away, but your hand grabs her face, nails digging mercilessly into her skin, enough to draw blood. A moment of silence, ‘stop’ she begs you with her eyes, ‘die’ you tell her with yours, and put the cloth around her mouth, tying it behind her head. 

Tears fall further. Your lips curl up. 

“He’s right, red suits you the best,” You wipe your thumb on her temple, over the loose clot that had formed on her wound. Your smile grows wider, you pluck out the mass of dead cells, letting the pus and blood ooze out as her muffled wails fill the room. Your hands cup her cheeks, a touch of pity, and you lean in towards her forehead, a kiss of death. “Goodnight, dear sister,” 

Perhaps, it’s the game of fates, how destiny plays into the hands of those who continue to fight without fearing the aftermath. The irony of happiness and despair— they go hand in hand. Sunlight graces upon the lands and your handmaidens are ready with everything they need for the bride, not you— Ah-young; unaware of the truth that lies beneath the grounds they walk onto, the truth under the enchanting smile that makes everyone believe in the tricks you’ve played. 

The eyes leave you unattended for minutes and you're on your way to the basement. The air inside smells of urine; your nose scrunches in disgust. A lot could happen in one night, you expected to greet her corpse by dawn, for she has always been as fragile as a dandelion, but you’re met with her exhausted body that dragged itself to the cover, above the dusty rags to save itself from the deadly cold of winter nights. 

“Look at you,” You say it in a way she would’ve said it if she could. It wasn’t intentional, you’ve just always been more like her sister, more than anyone ever knew. A chuckle rolls off your tongue as you walk to her, pulling her rolled up chemise down her thighs, admiring the scratches on her legs that she had gotten while dragging herself over the concrete and the numerous little red spots left by the mosquitos on her arms and feet. Even with chapped lips that beg for water and hands that are tied to even wipe off the nasal discharge off her face, her eyes spell of indignation at the sight of you, brimming with fear and yet so full of anger and detest. The blood had dried off her face, the wound inflicted on her collarbone inflamed to stages it could possibly be home to infections her soul would have never heard of. You could barely say she was your sister, that she was even a part of you, let alone being the splitting image, because you were standing in your best dress while she was lying in the dust that had soaked the blood off the injury on the back of her head. She looks defeated, head hung low, like a pest that had been hunted by the predator and is now ready to be eaten. Her eyes ask a question— why, and nothing more. Perhaps, an answer would help her survive without food and water longer than her body could sustain itself. You take a step towards her, accidently hitting your elbow against the corner of a rusted iron cupboard and wincing in the process. She laughs through the cloth, you restrain yourself from coercing into picking up the scissors thrown around and slitting her face from one end to the other, making sure she smiled forever. 

You grit your teeth, fist closed tight, eyes glaring into her putrid sight. Her condition makes you feel good about yourself, that you don’t need to feel threatened by such lowly lives, until your eyes land onto something shiny on her fingers, and it belongs to you. She needed an answer why, you have nothing to say for she’s smart, except what she used to tell you all the time: 

“The best thing about being identical twins,”— You take her hand, slipping out the engagement ring from her finger before sliding it on your own— “we can switch places and no one would ever know.” 

note : if u made it this far ,, thank u i luv u pls lmk what u think im itching to know 😔